


The Flower of Columbia

by WallaceAndGromitGirl



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Airships, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Edwardian Period, Escape, Flying, Identity Reveal, Kidnapping, Magic, Minor Violence, Multi, Mystery, Racism, Revolution, Romance, Steampunk, Suspense, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallaceAndGromitGirl/pseuds/WallaceAndGromitGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's always a man, a lighthouse, a city...and sometimes there's a girl with magic hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_This is the story of how I died._

_Don't worry! It's actually a very interesting story, and to be perfectly honest, it isn't completely mine. It's about a city, and it's about a girl._ _**Mostly** _ _it's about a girl. A girl named Rapunzel. And it starts with the sun..._

_Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun grew a magic golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured...among other things. The flower was found by an old woman called Mother Gothel; you might wanna remember her, she's kind of important._

_Centuries passed, and a hop, skip and a boat ride away, there grew a kingdom! It was ruled by a beloved king and queen, and the queen...well, she was about to have a baby. But she got sick,_ _**real** _ _sick. She was running out of time, and that's when people start to look for a miracle. Or in this case, a magic golden flower._

 _But Gothel — ah, I told you she'd be important! You see, instead of sharing the sun's gift, Gothel hoarded its power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. All she had to do was sing a special song. Creepy, right? Anyway, Gothel had the flower stowed away in a very secret place_ __—_ a city she had founded, a city that floated thousand of feet in the sky and flew all around the world. She thought it would be safe there, but she was wrong. Rumors got around, and there came a day when someone sneaked into the city, stole the flower from Gothel's garden and escaped without a trace. That sounds like a pretty nasty thing, doesn't it? Not if you knew what went on in that city...but I'm getting ahead of myself.  
_

_The flower was made into a medicine, and its magic healed the queen. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I'll give you a hint — that's Rapunzel. Everyone in the kingdom celebrated her birth, and for one moment, everything was perfect!_

_And then that moment ended._

_Gothel discovered the loss of the flower right away, and she heard of the girl's birth soon afterwards. She stole down to the surface and crept into the child's room, a knife in hand, ready to take her vengeance. When she saw Rapunzel's long golden hair, however, she stopped. She began to sing the incantation, and sure enough, the hair began to glow. The flower's magic had been transferred to Rapunzel. Gothel cut off a lock of the hair to take with her. It turned brown and lost its power, though, along with the part that was still on the girl's head. Gothel had no choice; she stole the child from her crib and just like that — gone!_

_The people of the kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the lost princess. For up amongst the clouds, in the heart of the flying city, Gothel raised the child as her own. She brushed her hair every night while singing the incantation to keep herself young, and she taught Rapunzel that the outside world was a terrible place. Only with her mother would she be safe._

_Gothel couldn't hide everything, though. As Rapunzel grew older, she began to read every book she could find. One book in particular enchanted her like no other; this was a book about Paris. She dreamed of visiting this magnificent city, with its lights and its gigantic tower. But how on earth was she ever going to get there?  
_

_Well, that's where I come in._


	2. Chapter 2

**1912  
**

**COAST OF MAINE**

* * *

"You just gonna sit there, Rider?"

"I'm being the lookout," Flynn answered. "Isn't that important?"

"Doesn't mean you can't row, too," the elder Stabbington snapped back as his brother grunted in agreement.

When they looked away from him once more, Flynn reached into his satchel and took out their latest catch. The tiara was much lighter than it looked; not an unimpressive feat, considering what was on it. The pure gold was inlaid with rubies, pearls, whatever those blue stones were and three large diamonds in the shape of a blossom. "I guess the Metropolitan can't go on about its top-notch security anymore, huh?"

His partners gave him cursory glances but said nothing.

"How much do you think this will go for?" he continued. "Ten thousand? Hundred thousand?"

"We won't know if the coppers catch up to us. Now start rowing."

"Maybe they'll finally get my nose right on the wanted posters. They always get yours right. Why is that?"

_"Rider!"_

"Fine, fine." Putting the satchel away, Flynn picked up an oar and started rowing. "How much longer is this going to take?" he asked, shivering from the early morning drizzle.

"Until they stop looking for us."

He looked ahead. "Why don't we rest for a while?"

"What, out here?"

"I was thinking up there, but whatever you want..."

A tall, dark shape was materializing from the fog. As they came closer, it revealed itself to be a lighthouse. The light had gone out, and the white paint that covered the structure was chipping away. A weathered, rickety dock extended from the rocky island, reaching out towards the travelers.

"I don't like the look of it," said the elder Stabbington.

"Why not?" answered Flynn. "Seems deserted, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, _seems._ What'll we do if someone's there?"

"Word doesn't get around that quickly. Now come on, I'm freezing!"

The brothers sighed, but they stopped the little boat at the edge of the dock. One by one, the men climbed up the ladder and started towards the lighthouse. It looked even gloomier up close. A long flight of worn stairs led to a set of water-stained wooden doors, one of which hung slightly ajar.

"Hello?" Flynn called out, knocking lightly. "Anyone home?" Hearing no response, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was all but bare. The only piece of furniture was a small table in front of a pillar, and the only light came from a sputtering candle perched atop it. Next to the candle was a metal tub filled with murky water, and on the pillar hung a framed rectangle of needlework; **OF THY SINS SHALL I WASH THEE.**

"Nice," Flynn muttered, glancing at the water. "You have fun with that."

Another flight of stairs wound up to the next floor, and the faint sound of voices could be heard from above. The Stabbingtons took the lead this time, loading their guns as they walked. A second piece of needlework hung on the wall; **FROM SODOM SHALL I LEAD THEE.** _Okay, now that's just weird,_ Flynn thought.

There was more furniture on the second floor; a desk, a sink, a bed, some cupboards, a wardrobe. The voices were only the warbling of a radio. _"Gimme that old time religion, that old time religion, that old time religion, it's good enough for me...!"_ **  
**

The elder Stabbington switched it off. "Can't stand that song."

Flynn was rummaging around in a cupboard. "Look!" he exclaimed, ceremoniously pulling out a can and pouring out its contents. "Money!"

The coins were made of silver. On one side were the images of a scroll, sword and key. On the other was an angel, and above that was the word _**Columbia.** _ They were old coins, dirty and wearing down.

"What kind of money is that?" the elder Stabbington asked, looking at them suspiciously.

"I don't know. Silver is silver, isn't it?" Flynn approached the wardrobe and started to open it. "Maybe there's some more in **—** _AAAHHH!" **  
**_

The men jumped back as a skeleton held together only by rotting flesh and muscle tumbled from the wardrobe and slumped to the floor. Its jaw was frozen in a scream, and its neck had been snapped.

The Stabbingtons' eyes darted to the flight of stairs leading upwards. "Go check it out, Rider."

_"What?_ Why does it have to be me?"

"This was your idea."

"Don't I...? Oh, _fine."_ Giving them one last scowl, Flynn turned and trudged up the stairs past more needlework; **IN NEW EDEN SOIL SHALL I PLANT THEE.** "Alright, we get it!"

* * *

The stairs led back outside and onto the deck in front of the lantern room. Flynn flinched as the icy drops of water hit his face. _When we sell the jewels on that tiara, I'm moving someplace where it doesn't rain._ There was a barrel containing boxes of ammo at one end of the deck, but nothing more. He was turning to head back downstairs when the door of the lantern room caught his eye. Attached to it were three bells, each engraved with one of the symbols from the coin.

After looking back to make sure that his partners weren't following him, Flynn cautiously rang the bells. The one with the key made a higher sound than the one with the scroll, he found, and the one with the sword was higher than them both. He began to experiment, ringing them multiple times and in different orders. _One, two, three. Three, two, one. One, two, two..._

**VWOOM! VWOOM!**

The cloudy sky glowed red as the deep blaring of a horn came from above to pierce the morning silence. The lighthouse answered back with a red glow of its own, and then the light inside began to spin around. Flynn watched as it ascended and was replaced by a new platform that rose up from the floor. Carried on it was a curled-up object that proceeded to fold out into a red leather chair.

The Stabbingtons appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "What did you _do,_ Rider?"

"I don't know!" Flynn shouted back. He stared out at the sea and glimpsed the lights of approaching boats. "They're coming!" he yelled, trying to run back down. The rusty stairs gave way at his touch and collapsed, however, leaving him stranded on the deck. "Quick, throw me the satchel. There's ammo up here. I'll toss it down and you can hold them off," he added when answered with suspicious looks.

The elder Stabbington continued to stare, but he eventually removed the satchel and tossed it to Flynn. "Now give us the ammo!"

Flynn paused for a moment, and then a smile spread across his face. "Sorry, boys. My hands are full!" Slipping the satchel over his shoulder, he darted into the lantern room and locked it behind him.

_"Rider!"_

"Enjoy prison!" Flynn laughed as he sat in the chair. "I'll miss the sound of your laughter — " **  
**

**CLANK.  
**

Two sets of metal bands abruptly snapped shut over his wrists, trapping him in the chair. _"Make yourself ready, pilgrim,"_ a robotic voice said. _"The bindings are there as a safeguard."_

"What...?"

Several metallic panels shot up from the floor and snapped shut around Flynn, creating a capsule. The platform tipped and swung downwards, bringing Flynn face to face with a field of fire created by four charging boosters. "No, no, no...aw, _come on!"_ he cried as his gun slipped from its holster and was incinerated.

_"Ascension,"_ the voice said when the platform returned to its upright position.

"No! No ascension!"

_"Ascension. Ascension in five, four, three, two one."_

Flynn screamed as the shuttle flew from the lighthouse into the sky. Through the window in the front panel, he could see the earth rapidly disappear beneath him into a wall of cloud. _"Five thousand feet,"_ the voice proclaimed. _"Ten thousand feet. Fifteen thousand feet."_

The sky was beginning to turn blue. The shuttle broke through the clouds, and then...

_"Hallelujah."_

"...Wow..."

 


	3. Chapter 3

If the annoying voice had told Flynn that he had died and gone to Heaven, he would have believed it. The place it had brought him to certainly looked the part.

Floating before him, bathed in the glow of the sunrise, was a city. Not a small one, either; he quickly lost count of the number of buildings. A number of them were flying independently of the others, moving about with propellers attached to their backs. In the center of it all was a giant golden statue of an angel, smiling with outstretched arms.

_How are they staying up?_ Flynn strained his neck trying to catch a glimpse at the underside of a building as he passed it, but the shuttle walls obscured his view. His stomach lurched as the vessel began to descend, narrowly avoiding a white airship that flew by. _But those are just in books!_ As he sank farther, he passed a building with a large portrait plastered on its side. Out of it stared the cold eyes of a young but gaunt woman with curly black hair, dressed in a red gown and a matching hat with a white feather in its band. A banner above her read **OUR PROPHETESS** in scrawling letters. Flynn found himself looking at the picture and trying not to at the same time, and he couldn't help sighing in relief when it drifted out of sight. _  
_

His brief moment of serenity was shattered when the shuttle landed with a jolt atop a building. He tried standing, but the metal bands over his wrists refused to budge. Instead he watched as his ride was lowered into the building and quickly swallowed up by darkness. "Come on," he muttered, trying to break his bonds. "Come on..."

As he left the tunnel and entered a room full of light and whirring gears, the faint noise of singing drifted up from below. _"Will the circle be unbroken? By and by, by and by? Is a better home a-waiting? In the sky, in the sky...?"_

The capsule began to slow as it floated past a series of beams engraved with words. **WHY WOULD HE SEND HIS SAVIOR UNTO US, IF WE WILL NOT RAISE A FINGER FOR OUR OWN SALVATION? AND THOUGH WE DESERVED NOT HIS MERCY, HE HAS LED US TO THIS NEW EDEN, A LAST CHANCE FOR REDEMPTION.  
**

Flynn wasn't exactly a religious man, but he was pretty sure there wasn't anything like _that_ in the Bible.

The shuttle passed through another tunnel, then out into another room filled with light. Flynn recoiled at the sudden change, and as his eyes adjusted, he found himself looking at a large stained glass window. Several people were gathered around a rock, looking up at an old man with a long white beard and a black robe. He pointed up to the sky, where the city hovered in the distance. Beneath it was a raised stone platform, and above it hung a stone banner: **AND THE PROPHET SHALL LEAD THE PEOPLE TO THE NEW EDEN.**

The platform carrying the shuttle jerked to a stop in a little alcove, and the front panel of the craft lowered with a hiss. The clamps on the chair's armrests snapped open, allowing Flynn to finally stand. "H-Hello?" he called out as he stepped into the room. A layer of water several inches high covered the floor, and candles in various stages of melting were placed in every dry space; the platform, the windowsill, the counters that jutted from the walls. The water flowed down from a ledge in the east wall and across the room through an archway, where it gathered around a statue of the old man. His arms were held open in a gesture of welcoming, but his face was stern and spoke of disapproval.

A flash of movement in the corner caught Flynn's eye. Behind the statue stood a praying man dressed in white. "Are you stuck too?" he asked, hurrying towards him. "Where are we?"

The man looked up and smiled. "Heaven, my friend. Or as close as we'll see 'til Judgement Day." He gestured next to him, where a flight of stairs led downwards into darkness.

_Well, it's either this or the rocket._ Suppressing a sigh, he walked past the man and down the steps. Maybe there was someone down here who would make sense.

Those hopes were crushed when a new voice reached his ears. "And every day on this day of days, we recommit ourselves to our city, and to our Prophetess, Mother Gothel! We recommit through sacrifice, and the giving of thanks, and by submerging ourselves in the sweet waters of baptism!"

The water rose to Flynn's knees as the stairs ended and spread out into a long, wide hall lined with candles and statues of angels. At the end, a row of steps led up to a pool which connected to a narrow tunnel. Gathered around the pool were more people in white robes, staring transfixed at a preacher who was yelling at them from the water. "And _lo,_ if the chosen one of our Prophetess had struck down our enemies at Wounded Knee, and not railed against the Sodom below, it would have been enough...!"

"Excuse me," Flynn said, pushing his way through the circle.

The preacher looked at him with unseeing eyes, his gray eyebrows raising with interest. "Is it someone new? Someone from the Sodom below? Newly come to Columbia to be washed clean before our Prophetess, our Founders and our Lord?"

"I'd just like to get down. Is there another of those rocket things in the city?"

The preacher laughed, as though he'd said something ridiculous. "Brother, the only way from this place is through rebirth in the sweet waters of baptism. You must be _cleansed!"_ Before Flynn could protest, the old man had his hand in an iron grip. "I baptize you, in the name of our Prophetess, in the name of our Founders, in the name of our Lord!" Placing a hand on his chest, he shoved Flynn beneath the water and held him there. _  
_

Flynn barely resisted the urge to scream as he thrashed around, the water stinging his eyes and the lack of air burning his lungs. He gasped as the preacher pulled him back up and the congregation let out a "Hallelujah!" that was far too cheerful for his liking.

"I don't know, brothers and sisters," the preacher continued, "but this one doesn't look clean to me."

"No, no, _please...!"_ Flynn's begging was muffled and extinguished as the preacher covered his face and shoved him back into the water.

The sensations did not last long this time. The water flowed into his lungs, and his vision blurred a bit before quickly fading away.

* * *

Gray — that was his first thought when he awoke. He was sitting at a gray table covered with gray papers and bottles in a little gray room. _His_ room. **  
**

"Oh, thank God," Flynn breathed. He wouldn't be forgetting _that_ nightmare any time soon.

A light knocking on the front door of the apartment got his attention. "I'm coming!" he said as he went to answer it, blissfully unaware that the room was just a little too gray. Possibly because it looked perfectly normal in comparison to what he saw when he opened the door.

He screamed as he found himself standing the middle of a storm night sky, looking down on a city filled with tall metal buildings. Above it floated Columbia, overlooking a hail of fireballs that shot down from the airships surrounding it. One of them turned to face him and let loose a stream of flames that headed right for his door.

Flynn's head whipped around as he searched for an escape, but the room had vanished. He could only shut his eyes as the fire rushed up to engulf him. First came a bright light that shined through his eyelids and heated his face, then the sensation of drifting along a current, and then...

 


	4. Chapter 4

...And then he opened his eyes.

Flynn was lying on his back in a shallow pool of water, staring up at the sky and being stared at by three statues of old men with young, muscular bodies. _O **kay,** maybe it's one of those dreams where you have to wake up twice._ He pinched himself _,_ and then he pinched himself again. _Darn._

He pushed himself into a sitting position and stood, his legs shaking as he did so. "There's a difference between baptizing a man and drowning him, you know..."

"To Father Washington she granted a sword of gold, so that Eden would have strength that set her above all others."

_The heck...?_ He turned to see a trio of white-clad people kneeling before one of the statues. "To Father Franklin she granted a key of gold so that Eden might have industry above all other nations," one of them said.

Flynn took a closer look at the statue they were in front of and the ones around it — Washington, Franklin, Jefferson. In togas, lugging around gold swords and keys and scrolls. _Haven't seen that one before._ **  
**

He spotted a flight of stairs next to Washington's statue and hurried up them without waiting to hear why the mystery lady had given the scroll to Father Tom, or whatever they were calling him. He needed a landmark to work with...that angel statue ought to do the trick. Wandering past the statue, he walked through a garden full of gently bubbling fountains, marble statues and colorful flowerbeds. Butterflies, hummingbirds and crows fluttered around the heads of more praying people scattered here and there.

"The Prophetess fills our lungs with water, so that we may better love the air," Flynn heard one of them say, which made him quicken his pace. _Note to self: if I see this prophetess, run the other way. **Especially** if she's got water.  
_

Heading through a gate and turning a corner, he happened upon a set of tall, white double doors emblazoned with gold pineapples. "Finally!" he muttered to himself as he pushed them open. Now it was just a matter of finding out where they kept those rockets, and then...

Then he didn't have the slightest idea what to say.

He stood on the steps of the building as it floated down to a long, neatly paved brick boulevard. Smiling people strolled up and down the street, chatting and sitting on benches. Some even waved to him. Beyond that, it widened out into a circle surrounded by buildings that came and went or simply floated in place. Standing over the entire scene was a gigantic statue of the Prophetess in the middle of the circle, looking ahead with a proud smile.

A steel walkway folded out from the building and connected with the street. Flynn slowly walked across it and paused before stepping onto the brick, as though it would vanish at his touch. It was firm, though, and he walked along it in a daze. He stared at the shops with their open doors, the happy citizens having a picnic at the foot of the statue, then up at the face of the smiling woman. _I'll give you points for one thing, lady — you know how to build a city._

* * *

Failing to find the statue of the angel, as Flynn quickly discovered, was quite impossible. Not only did it have its own island in the center of town, but he saw now that it dwarfed all the buildings. He had only planned to stop for a moment, but now he was staring at it through a telescope on a stand, trying to get a better look. She seemed to be rising up from the clouds, beckoning for him to come closer as though she contained wonderful that was meant for him.

It wouldn't hurt to stay here for a while, he thought. No one looking for him, no partners to hold him back —

"Telegram for you, Mister Rider!" Standing next to him was a little boy holding a card out to him expectantly.

"...Are you sure?"

The boy nodded, handed it to him and hurried off. Turning the card over, he glanced at its message — **Rider STOP Do not alert Gothel to your presence STOP Whatever you do, do not pick #77 STOP Lutece**

Flynn tossed it over his shoulder with a chuckle. _You do realize that I have to do it now, right?_

* * *

**COLUMBIA RAFFLE & FAIR,** the banner hanging above the street read. Either was good, Flynn thought, and both were even better. Walking up a flight of steps, he strolled into a square filled with excited people. Red, white and blue balloons were placed everywhere, a band was playing a ragtime tune and the stalls were adorned with pictures of grinning devils. _Odd choice._

"Look at this!" a barker next to a shooting gallery was shouting. "Those dirty Vox are at it again! See them villains zippin' around? Spreadin' their lies and dissent? You there!" he continued, pointing at Flynn. "You got what it takes to keep our city safe?"

Flynn watched a boy mow down several of the moving wooden figures and get a pile of silver coins dumped on the counter in front of him. "I can certainly try!" he answered with a grin. Approaching the counter, he picked up a shotgun and began firing when the bell rang. _Pow, pow, pow!_ Three of the figures went down instantly.

"There! The anarchist Fitzroy!" shouted the barker as another target flew across the stage. A dark-skinned woman, wielding a gun and a malicious grin.

Flynn took aim and fired. _POW!_ The figure's head was blown clean off, and the spectators cheered as her remains flew away. "So what do I get — "

The question was answered before it could even be asked as a purse brimming with silver coins was placed in his hand. "...That'll work."

* * *

"C'mon, why won't you take this?"

**"Sorry, pal,"** the mechanical vendor answered. **"The raffle is all sold out! Entrance is reserved for righteous and very important personages alone!"**

"I'll show you righteous..."

"Having trouble, mister?"

Flynn turned and saw a busty redhead in a low-cut dress standing behind him, a basket of green bottles on her hip and a knowing smile on her face. "Yeah, I think it's broken — "

"Or perhaps it's time to take back control from the men of metal."

"What are you talking about?"

She held out one of the bottles. "Possession. Bends any machine to your will. Free sample?"

It looked more like absinthe, but anything free sounded good. "I guess so," Flynn answered. Taking the bottle, he uncorked it and gulped down a mouthful. Immediately his head began to spin. _"Woah_...strong stuff you got here..." His vision grew hazy, green-tinted and dark around the edges as he struggled to stay upright.

The girl only giggled at his plight. "One whisper, and they're all ears..."

The pain in Flynn's head built up, released itself in a single throb and was gone. His vision snapped back to normal, and he fell onto his back gasping. "What was _in_ that?" The girl, however, had already gone to find some more victims.

His hands were tingling. When he looked down, he saw a light green mist floating around them that followed him when he tried to pull away. Strongest hallucination he'd ever had, if that was what it was. _Only one way to find out._

Getting back up, he approached the machine again. "Hey, buddy. How ya doing?"

**"Sorry, pal! The raffle is — "**

"I thought so." He raised his hand, and a beam of the mist shot from him into the machine. It jerked upright, and its eyes began to glow a bright white. **"Well, if it isn't Assemblyman Buford!"** it chirped as the gate behind it swung open. **"Your spot at the raffle awaits! Don't know why I didn't recognize you before."**

Flynn laughed as he strutted past it down the new street. Superpowers in a bottle. _Why_ didn't anyone back on the surface know about this...?

"Heads?"

"Or tails?"

Flynn stopped in his tracks, blinked and blinked again. Standing before him were a man and woman who had definitely not been there a second ago. Both had orange hair and faces covered in freckles. He wore a suit of light brown and red, and she was dressed nearly the same. She carried a tray with a single coin atop it, and he wore a chalkboard around his torso. The **HEADS** column was white with tally marks, and the **TAILS** was empty.

"Heads," Flynn answered without hesitation as he picked the coin up and tossed it. When it landed on the plate, the twins leaned forward to examine it and raised their eyebrows in unison. "Tails," the woman said with a hint of smugness as she put a single tally mark in the right column.

"Told you," the man answered. "Wasn't as satisfying as I expected, though."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Chin up," she told him, failing to notice Flynn sneaking past. "Enjoy it while you can. This one won't last long."

"I believe I shall. And that he will."

At this, Flynn turned around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But they were already gone.

* * *

The sound of a brass band and a joyful tune led him deeper into the city, past more shops and to the edge of a park. Several people were lined up outside in front of a girl holding a basket of baseballs. They chatted amongst one another, and they all murmured with excitement when one of them picked a ball from the basket and looked at the number it held. Flynn passed them and followed the music through a gate and down a flight of stone steps. Nestled in a clearing was a fancy wooden stage with a stone proscenium and red curtain, surrounded by the singing crowd. A mustachioed man in a black suit and top hat conducted them from the boards. "And now," he proclaimed when they were through, "the 1912 raffle has officially begun!"

"Hey, mister! Mister!" A girl carrying a basket broke from the crowd and hurried to Flynn. "Aren't you going to pick a number?"

"What's it cost?"

"Silly," she answered, laughing. "There's never a charge for the raffle. You been sleeping under a rock?"

"Not anymore." Reaching out, Flynn picked a baseball. He tried and failed to hide his smile as he saw the **77** painted on it in red.

"Seventy-seven?" the girl said. "That's a lucky number! I'll be rooting for you," she added seductively as she strolled away.

Meanwhile, everyone else had turned their attention to the man onstage. "Bring me the bowl!" he shouted, and they cheered as a girl appeared from behind the curtain carrying a sphere adorned with red and white stripes. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia?"

Flynn stuck a finger in his ears and cleaned them out. _The prettiest young **what?**_

The man reached into the bowl and pulled out a slip of paper. "All right, then...the winner is... _number seventy-seven!"_

"Over here! He's the winner!" the girl shouted. The band started up again, and the crowd erupted in applause. They surrounded Flynn, pulling him to the edge of the stage.

"Okay, okay!" he said with mock humility, gently pushing them off. "If you insist."

"Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize!" the man said as the curtain rose.

"Don't mind if I...I..."

_"First throw!"_

Flynn's jaw dropped as a white man and a black woman were pushed to center stage. Their arms were tied behind their backs, and they were struggling and pleading with the crowd. "Please, _please_ don't do this! It was me! It was all me! I'm the one you want! Please, **_what are you doing?"_**

The crowd only laughed at them and turned their attention to Flynn. "Aren't you gonna throw it?" the man asked him. "Or are you takin' your coffee _black_ these days?"


	5. Chapter 5

"First throw! _First throw!"_

The crowd surged forward with anticipation, forcing Flynn closer to the stage. His eyes darted back and forth in search of a way out, but the gaps in the mob had been closed up. _Think think think think…_

"Can't we talk about this?" he asked, pasting on his most charming smile as he casually tossed the baseball up and down. "You know what? I think we ought to draw another number. Believe me, you won't regret it. Worst pitcher in New York right here! Which reminds me, I gotta get back there — "

Everyone fell silent. "You mean you're an outsider?" a woman demanded.

"Well, yes. Nothing wrong with...hey, wait! _Wait!"_ Flynn was cut off as two policemen grabbed him by his arms and held him in place.

The announcer knelt to his eye level, smirking. "You think there's nothing wrong with that, boy?" he said. "Don't you know that makes you a back-stabbin', snake-in-the-grass False Shepherd?"

The people gasped and recoiled at this word, staring at Flynn with fear and disgust. "And we ain't lettin' no False Shepherd into _our_ flock!" the man added, standing up. "Show him what we got planned, boys!"

One of the officers pulled a weapon from his belt — sharp, spinning blades molded to the handle of a gun. Time seemed to slow down as it came towards Flynn's face...just slow enough for him to toss the baseball into the air, shove aside the second officer and wrest the contraption away from its owner. "Okay, I'm pretty sure this thing does something bad. What do you say we not find out?"

The crowd screamed and fled. "After him!" a voice yelled as police with guns flooded the clearing. "The False Shepherd has come to lead our lamb astray!"

"I-I don't know anything about this, I swear!" Flynn shouted. He blindly waved the hooked contraption around and caught a man in the side of the head. He fell to the ground, blood slowly seeping from the wound. Flynn heard himself scream, then he was faintly aware of his feet desperately carrying him towards the gate. Anywhere but here.

A flash of metal on the ground caught his eye - someone had dropped a pistol. Snatching it up, he raised it into the air and fired a single shot. "I'll aim lower!"

The officers all recoiled. Some sank to the ground, and others fled. Flynn's legs nearly gave way as he stumbled in the other direction. Jumping over a row of roadblocks, he slipped through a gate and took off down a sidestreet.

On a ledge behind him stood a white horse with an officer atop his back. "We've got him, Maximus," the man said, pushing against the animal's side with his spurs. Maximus whinnied, then jumped to the street and galloped after his target. He could smell its fear, and the scent delighted him.

Flynn jumped at the noise and backed into a barrel, knocking it over. The pungent smell of gasoline invaded his nostrils as the clear liquid flowed into a wide puddle on the ground. He backed away from it before glancing at the pistol. It's not like anything else can go wrong, I suppose.

He fired a shot at the puddle, then turned and ran as a wall of flame billowed to life and blocked off the street. In another time, he would have stopped to admire his work. Today, however, anywhere but here sounded nice. He was gone before he could see Maximus galloping around the corner.

"Woah, Max!" the officer shouted, jerking vainly on the reins. "Max, slow down! _Max!"_

When the horse jumped, he was thrown to the ground. The animal, meanwhile, sailed over the flames without even a singe. Landing on the other side, he continued to thunder after the target. Its scent was getting stronger.

* * *

The street was empty here, of both people and of buildings. Figures that they would stop having the latter right when he needed a place to hide...wait. There! Across from him floated a restaurant. There wasn't a light in any of the windows, and a **CLOSED** sign hung from one of the door handles. All he needed was -

_RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!_

Flynn curled up against the brick wall as a turret went off on the platform just above his head. Forcing himself to move, he looked up at the machine and watched it spin around raining death in all directions. When it had turned away from him, he dashed across the street in a beeline for his shelter. The doors were heavy, but they gave way with enough pulling. They fell shut behind him as he staggered into a dimly lit entryway and collapsed. The room was dancing like a kaleidoscope before his eyes, and his breath came in weak bursts. Should be safe in here awhile…

"Intriguing."

"That we haven't killed this one yet?"

"That he chose evasion rather than confrontation."

Flynn looked up. A man was behind the bar, cleaning a glass. A woman stood in front of it, examining a coin. That was where he'd seen them before - the coin toss. "W-What are you doing here?" he demanded as he stumbled to his feet.

They answered him with blank stares, as though he had asked what the shape of the earth was.

"...Never mind. Look, I need to get out of here now. Do any of those rockets go back to the surface?" More stares. "...Okay, fine. How about a hiding place? Somewhere I can go where they won't look for a few days."

"Everyone goes everywhere," the woman said. "Or almost everywhere." She and the man looked to the window, turning their heads in unison. When Flynn looked with them, he saw the angel statue looming in the distance. "You can go there?"

"If you're clever," said the man.

"Or suicidal."

Flynn could see the kitchen through a doorway. The hanging pots and pans rattled with a gust of wind; the back door was open. "I'll take my chances," he said, sticking the pistol in his belt.

The man and woman watched him go. "He may be rather cross when he gets there," she remarked.

"That is why we'll be somewhere else."

"Or somewhen."

"Preferably."

She flipped the coin. "Tails again."

He smiled. "Then perhaps he'll take it well."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this longer, but I decided to put something out so you guys wouldn't think this was dead. Also, I might as well warn you that I'm cutting the Fraternal Order of the Raven. Is it cool (in a sick and twisted way)? Sure. Does it really advance the plot? Not really. Oh, cheer up. You get the skylines next chapter.


End file.
